


When Storms May Come

by grumpygrahams



Series: When Storms May Come [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum, Heroes (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpygrahams/pseuds/grumpygrahams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Peter Petrelli shows the love of a brother to Oliver on a stormy night. Warnings: Cuddling and little kisses. </p><p>Set in an AU where Peter Petrelli time travels to Thredson's time and ends up it the Asylum after losing his time travel power thanks to touching someone else with a power. Way to go Pete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Storms May Come

It wasn’t that Oliver was scared of storms. They were both grown men, arguably able to take care of themselves, and fears of the dark, the bogeyman, and other childhood monsters were long gone, gone as far away as their innocence was. But that didn’t stop Oliver from climbing into bed next to Peter every time there was a distant rumbling in the sky. Peter almost anticipated the months of March, April and May with a joyous glee that kept hidden beneath the cool collected mask of indifference. 

Tonight it was no different, however - the jump of his heart in his throat when he felt the bed dip heavily with the weight of the older man. He knew it would come soon with the thunder rumbling closer and closer. It was going to be a hard storm tonight, one that would last into the early morning the next day, perhaps afternoon. So he waited with a baited breath for his adoptive brother. 

“Peter?”

The voice was oh-so-small, timid in its quaver as he felt a large hand paw at his shoulder, fingers closing around the curve. His feigning sleep was disrupted and he turned over, blinking the faux sleep from his eyes, looking up at dark brows and a beautifully curved mouth. Oh, Oliver. 

“Is it the storms again?” He asked, shifting over a little to make room for the man. Oliver nodded, keeping up the ruse of innocence so easily. How was it he could slip himself just so into the role he was carved into? It boggled Peter’s charred mind sometimes, just the thought of handing over control and gaining the innocence again. He lifted the covers just so. Oliver slid in next to him.

“Come her, buddy. I got ya.” It was the few words that Oliver loved to hear, that he nearly thrived on. It wasn’t the motherly affection he needed, no, but instead the love a brother that he never knew existed. The love of a sibling, in some ways, could rival that of a mothers. Siblings were partners in crime, able to understand the other when no one else could. They weren’t blood brothers, but brothers in spirit – a bond forged by the horrors of Briarcliff. 

Oliver nestled himself closer, bringing his hands to rest lightly on Peter’s chest as he covered them back again with a flick of his hand. His arms came around Oliver’s large shoulders, pulling him close. He felt the blunt end of Oliver’s nose nudge at the space between Peter’s shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply. He would not find the sweet smell of strawberries and woman but would instead find the heavy musk of aftershave and something that was very much a man. He waits. What for, he isn’t sure, but when he feels Oliver relax against him, melting into his embrace, Peter finds that all is right once again. 

Peter lifts a hand to thread his fingers through the fine hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck, stroking him softly into a dreamless slumber. His breaths deepened, even out, and it is then that he slips a leg between the other’s, drawing him closer, maybe perhaps more than a brotherly embrace now but something that Oliver would want. The skin to skin contact, from ankle to shoulder, save the briefs that cover their genitals. It was a craving that Peter was all to happy to fill. Outside a crack of thunder startled them both, the loud ‘boom’ rattling the house that they lived in. Oliver huddled closer, if possible, now awakened by the noise.

“Shh, shh.” The words were hushed from Peter’s mouth as he cradled the back of Oliver’s head in his hand, the other rubbing small, soothing circles into the low of his back, the dip so close to the curve of his ass. If he concentrated he could skim his thumb over a dimple, the cute pock-mark on either side of his spine. If he could, perhaps, convince Oliver someday, he would run his tongue over them before delving lower, parting him, letting his tongue taste him between his legs.

He abruptly closed his mind to the intruding thoughts, knowing they wouldn’t be welcomed. That the played innocence in his arms would be stricken, perhaps angered, by the way his blood boiled for something other than the calming touch of a woman. Would Oliver kill him with that knowledge? Surely. Peter adjusted himself carefully, willing away his erection that began, letting his thoughts surge to other things. Nathan. Angela. Lana. God.

Somehow his thoughts always turned to God. He wasn’t a man of faith anymore than a Catholic spouted to be. He believed in something but with what he has seen, what he has known, God’s part in the world could be nothing more than a hazy mix of anger at creation, one forged by his own hand, that must now be punished for their misgivings. The thoughts for the divine being were never so dark before entering Briarcliff, but now – now that’s all they were.

The storm continued to rumble outside, rain pounding against the window harshly, demanding its due. It took it by the way of Oliver’s trembling, nerves frazzled by the outside forces. Peter took hold of him again, giving a tight squeeze to remind the other that he was there and that he would do his job. To protect him. 

He leaned in, a gentle breath against Oliver’s own lips and it was the briefest of touches, a test. The kiss, if it was that, was soft, pliant, and he felt Oliver’s eyes on his face before he saw the two dark pits when he opened his own. He licked his own lip, shouldering away the nervousness and when he did he tasted Oliver on him. 

“It’s going to be okay. It will pass.” He didn’t know if he was talking about the storm or his ever growing desire to know Oliver more than the tight embraces they periodically shared, whether after a kill or after a long day of work. His head dipped, hiding the embarrassment of his stolen act, chalked it to his throat being slit before the next light of morning. It was no wonder the surprise he felt when he heard Oliver whisper an ‘okay’, and tuck himself back into the crook of Peter’s neck, allowing himself back into the trust of the man who just kissed him.

Perhaps there was hope yet.


End file.
